


A Day in Bed

by midnightprelude, trivialsins



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age - Various Authors, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Anders (Dragon Age) Positive, Anders - Freeform, Anders/Dorian - Freeform, Anders/Justice - Freeform, Bondage, Cat, Cat OCs, Cats, Dorian/Anders, Dorian/Justice, Dorianders - Freeform, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fridge Horror, Justanders - Freeform, Justdori, Justice, Justice/Anders - Freeform, Justice/Dorian, Justice/Dorian/Anders, Kink, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Prostitution, Prostitution mention, Sex Magic, Slavery mention, Swearing, Threesome - M/M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, canon compliant slavery, dorian pavus - Freeform, m/m - Freeform, past trauma, poly ship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:46:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24383773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnightprelude/pseuds/midnightprelude, https://archiveofourown.org/users/trivialsins/pseuds/trivialsins
Summary: In his wildest dreams, Dorian never hoped to return home with the unwavering support of a man who openly loved him.In his wildest dreams, Anders never hoped to live freely in a land of mages with a home and lover of his own.For seven years, they tirelessly together begin unraveling Tevinter’s web of inequity.Ready to collapse from weight of their burdens, they learn to find solace again in each other’s arms.
Relationships: Anders/Dorian Pavus, Anders/Justice, Anders/Justice/Dorian Pavus
Comments: 6
Kudos: 23





	1. Part I: Dorian

**Author's Note:**

> Jointly written by [Midnightprelude](https://midnightprelude.tumblr.com) and [Tryvyalsynnes](https://tryvyalsynnes.tumblr.com). Dorian' characterization is Midnightprelude’s, Anders and Justice are Tryvyalsynnes'. The world of Thedas, Tevinter, canon events, and the protagonists belong to Bioware. Everything else was made by us.
> 
> Half of this work is complete, so we hope to update regularly!
> 
> Thanks to [oftachancer](https://oftachancer.tumblr.com) and [johaeryslavellan](https://johaeryslavellan.tumblr.com) for betaing!

Dorian had journeyed home, aggrieved, his thoughts running through the parties he’d be expected to attend that weekend, meetings with Maevaris and the Lucerni, a visit to a certain heavily secured warehouse where Magisters went to feel connected to the underbelly of Minrathous. That was between the work he’d need to progress: a bill sponsoring the hospital Anders was fighting for, a treaty with the Southern countries to ally against the Qunari, trade negotiations with Orzammar, and the search for a worthy apprentice to continue his research while he dealt with everything else.

The carriage rolled to a stop and Dorian disembarked slowly, exhausted and covered in a thin sheen of sweat, nearly dragging himself up the steps to the Pavus estate and through the grand doors. The spring days were growing longer and with the increase in daylight came a concomitant increase in discomfort; somehow, he’d become maladapted to Tevinter summers while he’d been in Ferelden, even after seven years back in Minrathous. It seemed unfair; in the South he’d always been on the verge of losing limbs to frostbite, but now that he was home, Minrathous felt far too warm.

His rooms were blessedly cool after the stifling heat of the carriage; the house had been built to stay naturally comfortable in even the warmest Minrathous summers--the architect had considered the natural airflow of the area during construction--and had further been enchanted to maintain a consistent temperature for the more particular residents. Cool marble floor under his feet, Dorian pulled off his boots and stockings and untied the ribbon from his hair, letting the strands fall past his shoulders, before sliding open the glass door that led to his balcony.

He could see the gardens. The scent of rosemary and blooming lavender wafted deliciously from below. Dorian looked out over the grounds, smiling when he saw a familiar mop of strawberry blonde hair standing out among the greenery.

Anders was toiling in one of the beds, a pile of weeds mounded up on the graveled path beside him, next to a battered wheelbarrow full of tools. Dorian rested his elbow on the railing to watch him, his grin widening. Anders had a trowel in his hand; he was digging holes for some sort of plant, it might have been elfroot, but it didn’t look quite right. The gardens and greenhouses had quickly become Anders’ domain; he spent much of his time there, among the dirt and plants, talking to the horticulturalists, trying to improve the properties of the herbs he used, make the plants grow larger and more beautiful, and maintain the insects and birds which fed off of the flora he nurtured.

Dorian sighed as Anders brushed a stray hair from his face, smearing mud all over his forehead. He was single-minded in his work and often wound up covered in blood stains and Maker knows what else from the clinic. Anders was just as dedicated to his hobbies. He planted a row of the vibrant green herbs, and then a second and stood to admire his work, hands on his slender hips, dirt and grass stains covering his robes.

“Dominus?”

“Hmm?” Dorian turned to the voice, not realizing he’d had company. His head servant was addressing him, a look of polite embarrassment on his face.

“I did not mean to disturb you, Master, I simply wished to inquire after your dinner preferences? Would you prefer your dinner be brought to your study again?”

Dorian sighed, turning to his majordomo, resigned. “Perhaps it’s for the best… I feel like I’m drowning in work and nothing seems to make much of a difference. Was it like this for my father as well, Livius?”

The majordomo, Livius, had served the Pavus family since before Dorian had been born, when Dorian’s grandfather was still the master of the house; he was a slave for over four decades and freed with the rest of the Pavus staff when Dorian inherited the estate. He’d helped raise both Halward and his son in turn and had been in the majordomo of the family’s Qarinus property when Dorian was in his late twenties. He’d been one of the slaves who’d helped him escape when Halward Pavus had kept him in captivity.

The aging servant shook his head slightly, looking at Dorian, but not quite meeting his eyes. “If you will forgive my forthrightness, it is easier to maintain a system than try to change it. Master Halward preferred the former. Should I send for Master Anders as well?”

“Of course, if he’s not too busy….” He turned to look back at his lover, who was patting down the soil around his plants like they were the most delicate possessions he owned. “I’m so worn out, so completely drained… I don’t understand how they can’t see; we’re trying to make the Imperium better… Sometimes I wonder why I’m fighting. It’s like I’m pushing against a wall made of steel.”

The majordomo moved to his side, a respectable distance away, and finally met his eyes. “Perhaps you need some rest, Dominus, if you do not mind me saying so. You have seemed… pained… of late.”

Anders had finally noticed them standing upon the balcony and waved, his fingers blackened from the soil. Dorian felt a familiar tug in his chest as he smiled back, meeting his lover’s gaze fondly.

“Yes, perhaps a day in bed is just what I need. Send for Anders, if you’d be so kind, have him cleaned up and dressed and I’ll do the same. We’ll dine formally, in the gardens, when the sun begins to set.”

There was a glint in Livius’ eyes at the phrase ‘a day in bed’. The staff had been warned, prepared, for the eventuality. Dorian hadn’t expected he’d need it so soon.

“As you wish, Dominus, it will be seen to accordingly.”

He turned to Livius, the man who had probably saved his life those many years ago and spent his days since making sure Dorian maintained his sanity, clasping his hand. “Thank you. For everything.”


	2. Anders

Dorian was back.

Anders saw him on the balcony with his majordomo and waved, smiling, feeling a twinge in his chest. He’d see Dorian soon, he told himself, in his lover’s study, and then they’d talk a while over a lovely supper… before they had part again, until late in the evening, when Dorian came to bed.

He sighed, and turned back to his newly planted elfroot, carefully not letting Dorian see the expression on his face.

He had high hopes for this variety. Elfroot was strange. There was no such thing as a patch of elfroot; it grew like a weed everywhere in Thedas, in abundance in every hedgerow and ditch, but never two plants together, or even within ten feet or so of another, and Anders was finding out why.

He’d never once gotten an adequate potency from cultivated elfroot. It was susceptible to everything, like it was primed to sicken and die. It invariably caught something, and if one plant got leaf blight, they all did. Same with aphids—aphids loved elfroot—and scabs, cankers, mildew, root rot, galls, leaf curls—considering the properties it had and how important it was to medicine, it was a wonder the plant was so frail. It made up for its deficiencies by being proliferate, but he needed it to be a practical crop plant if his dream of clinics and hospitals in Thedas was going to become a reality.

He sighed again.

It wasn’t Dorian’s fault. They were both busy. Anders wasn’t angry at him, he was angry at the Magisterium for taking all his lover’s time, and angry with Justice for being so happy about it.

He was piling the weeds he’d pulled into a wheelbarrow when he heard the crunch of footfalls on gravel. Anders looked up; Livius was coming to meet him.

Anders grinned and straightened, leaning on his fork. “Hello, Livius, how are you? I saw him, there’s no need to tell me, I’ll be a moment more—I’m surprised you came personally, what’s up?”

Anders tried not to be too familiar with most of the people on the estate, although it hurt him. When he’d first come to Tevinter seven years ago, he’d treated everyone equally, like he did Dorian and like people he might have met on the street in Kirkwall or Amaranthine, but Dorian’s people responded with nervous resentment when they didn’t regard socializing with him as part of their job. Despite the fact Dorian’s people were all free, none of them could be his friends, no matter how much he wished otherwise.

In Tevinter’s moral wasteland, the massive Pavus estate was an oasis. There were no masters, no overseers, no slaves, and barely any servants. The sprawling manor house and its leagues of surrounding land was a self-sufficient community; the people on the estate could go if they wanted and stayed because they had something to gain. Everyone was some combination of paid employee, guest, teacher, or student, their families, and their children, who went to school. House Pavus protected, trained, and supported them, and in turn they promoted his success in the Magisterium. Dorian was vastly wealthy and his lands and enterprises generated more wealth all the time, and he produced freedmen: independent, skilled and capable Liberati, Soporati, Praeteri, and Laetan professionals safeguarded by the Pavus family—men, women and families who would never be enslaved again.

But Dorian was at the beginning stages of the change he hoped to bring about; his task was monstrous, his successes fragile. Outside the manor gates, everything remained mostly the same as it had always been. The people on the estate were still trapped by Tevinter’s corrupt Magocracy. Mages, especially ones of rank like Dorian and Anders, had allies and enemies. They couldn’t have friends. The class divide was too vast.

The way people treated him had been completely unexpected, a total shock, even though Anders knew there was a reason Dorian had been so soul-crushingly lonely when he’d met him. It hurt more than he could have imagined. He’d missed true and honest friends, friendship and people who took him at face value.

He’d mostly given up with Dorian’s staff; he’d built a clinic, took in people like him and fostered some normal relationships, but with some of the staff on the estate, like Dorian’s ancient majordomo, he refused to be put off.

He respected and admired the man; when he’d arrived, one of the first things Dorian had said to him was ‘if you need anything, talk to Livius’. Livius managed and enhanced every aspect of their lives. Best of all, sometimes Anders detected a trace of something like commonality, even appreciation, in their conversation, as if the senior wished things could be different between them too.

If Anders’ Southern casualness bothered the elderly former slave, he showed no sign, only bowed in greeting, ignoring the first question. “I thought it prudent to relay the Magister’s decision concerning tomorrow personally, Lord Pavus.”

“Oh? Is he thinking of taking me into town with him? Tell him I’m not going.” Anders felt peevish. “I don’t like shopping without him.”

“Ah… No.” There was a hint of a smile on the old man’s face. “The Magister has decided to rest. He will be spending tomorrow in bed.”

“Really?” Anders tossed his fork onto the weeds in the barrow, instantly forgetting the elfroot, or how tired he was and how his knees hurt. “When?”

“Sunset. The master wishes to dine formally in the gardens. I’ll send someone to escort you, Lord Pavus.”

“Have someone take care of this, will you? The head groundskeeper knows what I’m trying to do here, I’ve pestered him often enough about it. Gods, Livius, thank you, I can’t tell you how happy you’ve made me!”

Anders ran to the mansion, ecstatic. He turned back mid-run and raised his hand in a wave and was treated to a glimpse of Livius’ pleased, indulgent smile.

He went up to his closet—they each had one, it held their clothes and a daybed and was a dressing room and private bath. Anders’ was smaller than Dorian's, a bright, sunny, comfortable place of total privacy; only Dorian and Anders’ manservant could enter—and threw open the door. He was grimy and sweaty, he had to bathe, and then pick something, out of all the garments he’d had Dorian’s stylists create for this night, to wear—he was already shucking his filthy work clothes on the tiled floor when his manservant arrived a minute later.

Anders breathed a sigh of relief when he saw him. The man didn’t waste a moment on chit-chat; he went straight to Anders’ bath and began to fill it with water.

His manservant was one of the people Anders had a hard time talking to as a person instead of a subordinate. Familiarity made the elven man uncomfortable. They kept conversation between them innocuous, sparse, and professional. The man had been scarred by slavery; even his name, Minnoue, wasn't Tevinter, it was an Orlesian affectation, more suited to a pet, not a grown man who hoped to marry and have children.

He’d gotten the manservant when he’d first arrived and sometimes Anders wished he’d been more specific and picky; he could have had a confidant and advisor. At the time it hadn’t seemed to matter, and he’d said as much, so Livius had chosen based on Anders’ fondness for cats. 

It was too late to change circumstances now; he’d destroy Minnoue’s career and ruin his life. Becoming Anders’ servant had been a huge promotion, one Minnoue capitalized on; he loved the reputation and status.

Anders opened his cabinet and chose jewels. He was already wearing one of his favorite pieces, the gold earring Dorian had given him in Skyhold shortly after they’d met, to replace the one the Warden had given him. He’d been forced to sell the first one for passage—his own fault, he should have hidden it before he’d asked for a spot on the ship to Kirkwall—and he’d always regretted losing it.

For his hands, he chose his wedding ring—he’d begun taking it off recently, because he was working with dirt. It was a signet ring handed down in the Pavus family since the Exalted Age, last worn most famously by Gideon Pavus when he’d been tried for treason for advocating peace with the South following the Fourth Blight. It was glimmering gold in the shape of a snake, with two bright sapphires, four rubies, and a glittering diamond the size of a copper coin. Anders was terrified of losing it in the garden.

He needed something for his other hand and chose another diamond; one Dorian had bought for him on a lark. He’d admired it and said something about how he’d never guessed diamonds could be brown, and then next thing he knew, he was walking away from the shop with the thing on his hand.

The third thing was another favorite piece, probably his most favorite, although his wedding ring still filled him with awe whenever he looked at it. Dorian had made the pendant for Anders’ second phylactery; in the coiling snake’s tail there was still glass from the ampule which had held his blood.

Near sunset, Anders was clean, his skin oiled and perfumed with a cologne Dorian had given him, the tips of his hair trimmed to make it softer, and dressed in a deep ochre robe with the Kirkwall dragon in gold and blood-rust embroidery in a repeating pattern on the cuffs and the collar. The silk was soft and luxurious, dark enough to bring out the pallor of his skin yet complimenting his hair and eyes.

The robe looked good, dressy without being complicated, and just loose enough; if Anders chose, it would pool around his feet in an instant. A single hidden hook and eye held it together at one side of his neck. His manservant helped him tie a blood-red leather belt in a simple knot, and a matching ribbon in his freshly washed hair. For underneath it, Anders chose a pair of thin, gold-colored silk trousers, the legs cut wide so the fabric seemed to flow, and skipped the smalls; on his feet, a pair of satin slippers he could step out of.

Anders hung the phylactery casing around his neck, tucking it under his robe for Dorian to find, and looked at himself in the mirror—he wanted to look ravishing, and he believed he’d succeeded.

He was ready when the servant came for him and led down to the gardens, where Dorian waited.

***

It felt as though a weight had dropped from Dorian’s shoulders. As soon as he had decided to spend a day recovering from the tedium and stress of the Senate, he felt immediately more relaxed. His staff would be hurriedly making the arrangements and cancelling all his appointments. They were under instruction to tell anyone who came to call that Magister Pavus was heading off to Orzammar, called away urgently on business, and couldn’t be reached by any means, magical or otherwise.

Anyone who needed him would simply have to wait and if they didn’t like it, they’d need to take it up with the Magister himself whenever his schedule permitted. Dorian could already think of a few of his colleagues and their underlings who would be particularly incensed but wouldn’t dare mention it for fear of showing weakness.

Dorian had the friendship of the former Inquisitor and the southern Divine, the ear of the Archon, and a rising popularity among the young Alti and commoners. At least for a short while, he could do what he damn well pleased. He’d worked tirelessly for the Imperium for nearly a decade; it was past time for a well-deserved vacation.

His focus would be solely on his lover, for the first time in what felt like an age; they’d spend the day together, resting, chatting, eating, enjoying each other’s company and bodies…

The thought alone was already making him feel heated. Dorian rushed through bathing, fixing his hair and mustache, and dressing, choosing a simple wrapped robe instead of his typically more complicated outfits. It was only tied in three places—one of them a stupidly easy belt at the front—and could be removed in a matter of moments. It was a deep crimson with golden serpents embroidered over his shoulders and a subtle burgundy pattern throughout the garment, but the most intriguing feature was the plunging neckline that left his chest exposed nearly to the stomach.

Dorian’s reflection returned his pensive gaze from the triptych vanity mirror. The outfit was daring, but it simply wasn’t enough. Such an outfit demanded accentuation; so much of his body would be laid bare before his lover. He wanted to be able to catch his attention with a twitch of his hand, with shimmering gold and sparkling gemstones.

He opened the leftmost drawer of the vanity, taking out a pair of golden bangles, twin serpents with each scale carved into the metal. Dorian slipped them over his biceps, their ruby-encrusted eyes staring into the space above his shoulder, gold pleasantly cool against his flesh. He picked out a matching snake to wind around the top of his ear, its tail protruding from the back of his piercing. Rubies decorated six of his fingers; the wedding ring he’d already been wearing took up a seventh.

As an afterthought, he removed his birthright amulet from its usual chain and swapped it out for a longer one that dropped the jeweled snake farther down his chest, halfway to his stomach.

His reflection gave an approving smile as he sprayed himself with a touch of cologne, oakmoss and sandalwood, stepped into a pair of slippers, and rushed out of his chambers to the garden below to meet Anders.

He’d beaten him there, just as he’d hoped.

On a circle of paved flagstone, there was an intimate table for two, illuminated by candles, under an awning draped with white muslin to keep insects away and shield them from the bright evening sun. The staff had somehow put together a beautiful, elegant setting while they were getting prepared, and then silently retreated, leaving him alone among the flowering trees and flickering candlelight.

It was lovely, the perfect start to the evening. The estate’s gardens had always had sublime greenery and already been a centuries-old work of art before Anders had added beds of roses; each plant, tree, and stone harmonized with everything around it, to gorgeous effect. Dorian looked over the garden appreciatively; Anders had somehow made this area positively stunning. The roses he’d fussed over for years softly perfumed the air. Fireflies were beginning to dance as the sun descended, taking much of the heat of the day with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight edit to this chapter, the addition of Minnoue. Somehow he got missed in the initial upload. -- TS


	3. Dorian and Anders: Talk over Tapas

Dorian heard a door open; soft footsteps approached. Anders was beaming and Dorian found the expression easy to match as he met him halfway, tugged him off balance and into his arms, and kissed him fiercely. Anders’ lips were ever-so slightly chapped, and his body still held the warmth of the sun he’d likely spent all day laboring under. Dorian inhaled the smell of elfroot and the Rivaini cologne he’d bought Anders last Satinalia—rosehips sweetened with vanilla and with a dash of musk—on his lover’s skin.

Dorian shut out all their responsibilities, put aside any of their other obligations, everything short of stopping time itself.

He could feel the thin silk of Anders’ robe and the threading of the embroidery against his chest. Dorian had seen the Kirkwall’s symbol for the mage revolution drawn in The Tales of the Champion and was always delighted when Anders wore it, a reminder of the sacrifices his lover had made and the changes he’d enabled.

“Amatus,” he breathed, drawing back to look into his lover’s eyes. “I’ve missed you desperately. You look scintillating—I’m glad you managed to scrub the dirt away.”

Anders chuckled, elated, breathless from the kiss and the feel of Dorian’s immaculately styled mustache against his lip. “I scrubbed most of the dirt away; my mind is the same as ever. You look gorgeous, love, that neckline is—I hope I’ll be able to concentrate on dinner.”

“I take it you were informed of my plans?” Dorian slipped an arm around Anders’ waist, leading him towards the table and pulling a chair out for him. He gave Anders a sly, knowing smile. “Do you approve?”

“Unequivocally.” Anders didn’t take the chair right away, too unwilling to let go of his lover. He kissed him, as fiercely as he’d been greeted, holding Dorian tightly, and then he let Dorian seat him, giving him a loving, contented look. Dorian sat across from him and Anders reached across the small table for his soft, elegant hand. Dorian was wearing a daring robe Anders only knew was day wear because of its beautifully tailored collar; it was… inspirational.

They had a magnificent view of the setting sun from their bower draped with white muslin; soon they would be able to raise the sheer curtain and see its full beauty.

They’d come at the perfect time; the clouds were starting to turn pink and gold. Anders smiled at Dorian, admiring him and the garden they were in, feeling invigorated and blissfully calm at the same time; the remaining tiredness and tension from the day fell away. “I’m looking forward to resting with you tomorrow. I’m so glad you decided to do this now, it’s just what I needed.”

Dorian squeezed his hand gently and let go, but only to reach for the decanter of red wine the servants had filled with fruit and left chilling on ice. He crossed to Anders to pour his glass first, only a small portion, about what Justice would tolerate without complaint, though Dorian hoped the spirit would let him get away more than a quarter glass, given the circumstances. They’d both been working brutally hard for months.

“I’m so pleased, my love, and I feel exactly the same way; life’s become a bit dreary, hasn’t it? I hope, for one, your mind never changes, amatus. It’s one of the many, many, many things I adore about you.” He punctuated each repeated word with a kiss, the first on Anders’ nose, then his forehead, before finally settling on his lips, lingering and caressing his cheek before taking his own seat across the table. It was a challenge to extricate himself from Anders, but he knew prolonging the waiting would make the rest of the evening all the more delightful.

He allowed his eyes to settle on Anders as he poured a glass of wine for himself, almost staring at the way the setting sun seemed to catch his hair on fire and bring out the glimmer in his eyes. Anders was always beautiful, but in the warmth of sunset he seemed to glow. He was sporting a few more gray hairs than when they’d met (as was Dorian, to his abject horror), but Dorian thought it made Anders look dignified and scholarly. Anders’ laugh lines were growing deeper too, but Dorian liked to think it was less from age and more from being wonderfully happy.

“If we don’t make it through dinner clothed, then the worst—or best, depending upon how you look at it—thing that will happen is we’ll eat a bit later. Speaking of which, shall we see what the kitchens have blessed us with this evening?”

“Yes. I’m hungry, to be honest, I’ve spent the day gardening, and something tells me I’ll need my strength.” Anders winked at Dorian, grinning, and took a sip of sangria to please his lover; it was exquisite. “Although I could be persuaded, but we have time, don’t we…”

Dorian looked radiant, a picture of studied elegance, leaning back in his chair and holding his wine glass negligently, almost as if he was bored, except his eyes sparkled and he was smiling. He seemed to glow in the last rays of sunlight. Anders was already longing to release Dorian's thick, luxurious hair from its braid and tangle his fingers in it. It was going to be torture sitting across from him all through dinner; Dorian’s physique was as perfect as ever. A tantalizing hint of smooth, unblemished muscle peeked from his robe, and the glint of the gold chain he was wearing was relentlessly distracting.

Anders couldn’t resist; he set his wine down and reached across the table for his lover’s hand again, raising it to his lips and kissing his lover’s knuckles.

Their meal was waiting for them on a cart a few yards away. It rolled toward them, as if pushed by invisible hands. Anders watched it come, and then looked admiringly at Dorian. The only way he knew his lover was casting Force was a slight tightness around Dorian’s nose and eyes from the effort.

“Show off.” Anders teased indulgently, letting go of Dorian’s hand and lifting the lid off one of the covered dishes. “Luckily for me. I love watching you cast, amatus.”

“What exquisite fortune we have, then, because I very much enjoy being the subject of your admiration!” Dorian chuckled, his hand still tingling from where Anders’ lips had met his skin. He loved it when Anders used the Tevene endearment for him. It had been a shock at first; he’d never expected someone to look at him and call him ‘amatus’ and mean it. The word sounded so natural coming from Anders’ lips, but even after so long together, it still managed to delight him.

Anders gasped. “Maker, they made us tapas and paella. I love this.”

His hands had been even softer than usual, and sweet-smelling—Dorian could make out the predominant scent of rose hips with a dash of bergamot even from across the table, but there was something else too, something vaguely earthy he couldn’t quite place from the distance. He felt a desperate longing to pull Anders into his lap to allow for more subtle discernment.

Anders was a painful tease; it came naturally to him, but his every move seemed calculated to draw Dorian closer. Once, it had been effective immediately; when they were first together, Anders would have Dorian eating out of his palm by now, completely at his mercy. Over the years, Dorian had grown better at resisting, postponing for a while, before finally succumbing. It was a dance which never grew stale, a silent competition to see which one of them would buckle. Dorian was determined to win tonight.

His companion’s robes were provocative in an entirely different way than Dorian’s; a collar hid the curve of his shoulder and neck, and a barely visible chain hinted at what was underneath. The cut and fabric clung to his skin in all the right places, accentuating the shape of both his narrow hips and deliciously strong shoulders. The pattern deliberately drew the eyes downward and—despite recognizing the contrivance—Dorian followed it, briefly disappointed the table blocked his view.

Anders was positively made for the warm tones of sunset. His eyes were intoxicating, especially as he delighted in the dinner the kitchen had prepared for them. His smile reached the corners of his eyes, crinkling them in a way that never failed to curl the corners of Dorian’s lips in a subtle smile.

The silver trays had hidden a veritable Antivan feast; the tapas Anders had mentioned consisted of a variety of cured meats and cheeses, grilled squid, some sort of meatballs, and butterflied shrimp cooked in acid and chilies.

“I think the staff is purposefully spoiling us, amatus.” Dorian spooned them each a sizable helping of ceviche, with bread to sop up the citrus. “The sauce here is called ‘leche de tigre’ or ‘milk of the tiger’ in Common; there’s an old Antivan story maintaining it’s an aphrodisiac so powerful it was used to seduce a king from his crown.”

He said the words with a feigned nonchalance, casually swirling the wine in his goblet, but his eyes were on Anders, a faint smile on his lips as he drank in the sight of his lover.

Anders looked at the food on his plate, eyes wide. “Powerful? Maker… Do we need it? I don’t know what to say. Oh wait, yes I do.”

He picked up his fork and gave Dorian a wide, suggestive smile. “Meow.”

Dorian had just pressed his glass to his lips for a sip of the wine, the taste fruity and refreshing, before Anders had begun teasing him, raising his eyebrows and looking the very image of a cat about to pounce.

He nearly spit out his drink, laughing heartily and fixing Anders with a fond, loving gaze as he covered his mouth with his napkin. It was always still a bit of a surprise when Anders was like this; he’d never thought it was possible to be adorable, ridiculous, sweet, and undeniably sexy all at once, but Anders managed the perfect balance. It simply wasn’t fair.

Anders was still smiling so hard his cheeks were hurting when he found Dorian’s legs with his own. They were eating, but there was no reason to stop touching. He brushed his calf against Dorian’s. “We should feed this to each other.”

The sky was gradually getting darker and the first stars were sparkling in what was going to be a clear, beautiful, moonless night filled with them. The sun was taking the last of the clouds with it, painting them a rich, gilded pink.

Anders pulled the muslin aside so they could see it better, and the sun streaked Dorian’s skin with gold.

Every now and again he still felt a strange sense of disbelief, like he had at the very beginning; he was feeling it now, and it made him gasp when he looked up at Dorian, stunned by how gorgeous he was. It seemed impossible he could be here, now, looking into the adoring eyes of this wonderful man… He simply wasn’t lucky enough. The world was mad; it was the only way to explain how Dorian had not only been single when they had met, but also heartbreakingly lonely.

“Amatus, you’re beautiful.” Anders breathed. “The way you look in this light… you’re stunning.”

Dorian’s blissful smile grew at the compliment, knowing the admiring look he was returning showed an equal appreciation. Anders was surrounded with a halo of light, his robes glimmering and glinting in the setting sun, the golden embroidery catching his eye whenever he moved. Dorian nodded his approval at the suggestion they feed each other—he loved the remarkable intimacy—and managed to maneuver a bite of fish, sweet potato, and onion for Anders to enjoy, holding his hand under his fork as his lover leaned to take it from him.

He sighed, contented, as Anders did the same for him, enjoying the melding flavors of fish, citrus, and chilies on his tongue. When he was younger, Dorian had read books he’d blessedly managed to hide from his peers, tawdry, mind-rotting romance novels. As a teenager, he’d hoped for something out of one of the stories. As a young man, he realized it would never be possible.

And somehow yet here he was, sitting with a handsome man who exuded love with every breath, feeding each other delicacies under the setting sun, among roses his lover had planted for them to enjoy, in the home they’d made together, sharing their lives, their goals, their hopes and dreams.

“I can only imagine, amatus, if I look even half as dazzling as you do, I’m truly a god among men.” He allowed himself to smile fully, his heart feeling light as a feather and his belly feeling warm from either the wine or the ceviche. “More than once I’ve wished I were a painter, to capture the way you look in the morning, stretching after a long night of sleep, hair tousled and messy… Or when you’ve just emerged from a bath, water dripping off your nose and beading from your skin… Or the way you’re looking at me right now, as though I’m the only other creature in the world and you’re grateful for the privacy…”

He took another sip of wine, leaning back against his chair, running his own slippered foot against the inside of Anders’ ankle.

“I’ve spent my life surrounded by beauty: beautiful objects, beautiful places, beautiful people…” He waved his hand dismissively before clasping Anders’, bringing it against his own cheek and nuzzling his face against it. “You’re the only one who has ever moved me, amatus, and not just once—you manage it every day without even thinking.”

“You’re so good to me, amatus, I adore you, and you’re wrong, I can’t compare.” Anders was still beaming and a little breathless. He’d gotten somewhat used to how spicy Tevinter liked its food; he thought his cheeks were perhaps a little flushed from the tapas, and not because he had just been outrageously flattered and was ridiculously happy. “You truly are a god. Sometimes when I look at you, I think I’ve already been swept to the Maker’s side. I’ve wanted to paint you too, I love how you look when you’re concentrating, fully absorbed and unaware I’m looking. The look of resolve on your face sometimes, amatus… I wish I could convey how you look to me.”

“I never thought I’d see it happen, but it seems we’ve just stumbled upon our first disagreement, amatus,” Dorian chuckled, reveling at the flush in his lover’s cheeks. He hoped that Anders was feeling as warm and elated as he was. “Who would’ve thought we’d be arguing over which of us is more handsome? I’ll suppose I’ll give you the victory, at least outwardly. I am quite the paragon of perfection, I’ll admit. But I also have impeccable taste.”

Anders couldn’t blush any harder; he couldn’t continue their game, instead holding out another forkful full of choice tidbits of the ceviche for Dorian. “Eat, love. I insist we at least try everything and eat desert. It would be a shame to waste your chefs’ skill and thoughtfulness. It’s funny, isn’t it; usually you’re reminding me to eat.”

“It’s the company, without a doubt. You may not realize it, but you’re exceptionally distracting.” Dorian tilted his head ever so slightly and his table setting slid to take its place in the spot next to Anders. Dorian accompanied it, bringing his chair with him, settling next to his lover, and placing a hand daringly on his upper thigh. “Much better. Now I can do this…”

Dorian leaned in, pressing their lips together, his other hand moving to the nape of Anders’ neck. He could still taste the wine and lime on Anders’ tongue as his lips parted and the scruff on his lover’s cheek was delightfully soft against his skin. Anders’ hands tangled in his loose hair and he couldn’t help but slide his hand higher on Anders’ leg, teasing and tempting him.

“What were you asking me to do, again? My mind’s gone suddenly blank…” Dorian grinned cheekily, stealing another quick, tender kiss. “Oh yes, eating. We really should eat.”

Anders kissed him back, uncharacteristically speechless, too flush with happiness. Flirting with Dorian was so much more meaningful, unlike the idle nothings he used to mouth in Kinloch for lack of anything better to do and mostly for the sake of antagonizing Templars, and sometimes, like now, he couldn’t respond, he didn’t have the words. He took the lid off the skillet of paella and served some, making sure they each got oysters. Justice was letting him drink, but Anders wasn’t pushing the issue; he finished the sangria and held out his glass to Dorian for cava.

They ate, feeding each other the best from their plates—no hardship, the meal had the finest ingredients and was exquisitely prepared, beautiful, delicious, and becoming sweet pain from the social niceties they were attempting to observe to torture themselves and each other. They had ample opportunity to touch each other. Anders put his hand over Dorian’s, and then his arm around his lover, kissing him avidly between bites, touching his face, his neck, caressing him and being kissed and caressed in turn.

The meal wasn’t large and they took care not to eat too much but it was still lasting too long; Anders was aching to hold Dorian with both arms, with no encumbrances, and be anywhere else, even though Dorian’s chefs had outdone themselves and the food deserved to be enjoyed.

Finally, they were eating dessert, an Orlesian pastry, individual gâteaux, fraisier à la mascarpone. Anders had to laugh helplessly when he lifted the lid and saw it; the gâteaux were topped with yet another reputed aphrodisiac, slivered almonds. They fed each other strawberries, and the instant only crumbs remained on their plates, Anders stood, breathless with anticipation, and held out his hand to his lover. “Let’s go for a walk, amatus.”

Dorian took his hand, briefly, before slipping his arm around Anders’ waist instead, holding him tightly. He snuffed out the candles on the table with a wave of his hand. “A splendid idea! I haven’t walked through the gardens since the flowers began to bloom.”

“Too long, then.” Anders whispered the words, lifting his hand to cup the back of Dorian’s head to draw his lover even closer for a kiss.

Then he drew back, because if he didn’t, they would never leave the pretty place the servants had decorated for their meal.


	4. Walking in the Garden

Anders parted the muslin and they stepped out into the gathering dusk. They’d been too enraptured by each other and missed the rest of the sunset; there was nothing left but a faint glow on the horizon. The sky was turning an inky indigo filled with sparkling stars.

They walked, arm in arm, along a grey flagstone path between raised beds full of flowers in a riot of color; the first few, beds of roses, Anders had planted. There were examples of every kind of blooming plant, and many different roses; the groundskeepers had incorporated the flower into their design over the years, and now there were over a dozen varieties close to the manor, with voluptuous blooms in red, pink, yellow, and white. The beds bordered coppices, ornamental flowering shrubs and miniature trees, which in turn gave way to larger trees; some, the willows and cedars were so large they sheltered the path. Others were already blooming. They called this place ‘the’ garden, but it was one of many; in the heart of  _ this _ garden, there was a magnificent, centuries-old cherry tree.

Someone had left a basket at the edge of one of the rose beds, cut a few flowers, and stripped the thorns from the stems; Anders stooped, took one, breathed in its heavenly scent, and gave it to Dorian.

The path was illuminated by soft light from floating lanterns growing brighter as they approached and dimming again after they passed, startling glow-worms, fireflies, and giant, brilliant moths with wings the size of their palms; the insects danced over flowers and shone in the branches.

The gardens had always been Dorian’s favorite part of the estate, besides his library, but this particular one outshone them all. He’d thought of it as  _ Anders’  _ garden. The flashes of color so characteristic of his lover’s preferences slowly overtook the subdued hues his mother had liked. The head groundskeeper was an excellent judge of character and had perfectly emblemized him; Anders often became overwhelmed when given too many options, so unable to decide he’d ultimately choose not to decide at all, picking everything. They’d managed to bring an elegance to the chaos. Nothing clashed, not a stone was out of place, but the area was so clearly designed for Anders it quickly became Dorian’s favorite too.

The rose Anders handed him was beautiful, bright, red, and flawless. He lifted it to his nose, breathing in deeply, allowing himself to be led, his heart fluttering with anticipation. The entire evening was shaping up to be immaculate; things had so quickly changed from drudgery to pure, unadulterated  _ magic. _

They continued on, walking in silence until they came to a stream; some Pavus ancestor had diverted water to make it run through the garden. A curved cedar bridge arched over it.

Anders stopped in the middle and leaned with his back against the railing, gazing at his lover contentedly. “It’s a beautiful place, amatus, made to have you in it, I think.”

“ _ Us _ ,” Dorian corrected gently, chuckling and running his hand over the soft scruff on Anders’ cheek. “A shame we don’t put it to more use, hmm?”

Anders leaned into his touch, his mouth open, ready to kiss him. The railing was sturdy; he was consumed by the hope Dorian would turn him against the rail and lift his robes, stroke his throat and whisper dirty things in his ear. He wanted to feel Dorian’s mustache against his neck. “We should. I saw a half-dozen places we could have stopped…”

“Hmm...” Dorian took Anders’ hand, motioning to the water below. The stream was moving slowly, stars reflected in the rippling pools. Their reflection wasn’t crisp, mostly just colors and impressions, but Dorian drew his attention to it anyway. He slipped the rose behind Anders’ ear, looking at him fondly. Of  _ course, _ the flower matched his lover’s accessories perfectly, the blood red complimenting his ribbon and belt elegantly.

“Quite the striking picture, my love, perhaps we should be captured in marble. Your jawline alone would be an inspiration to the masses.” As if to add further evidence to the argument, Dorian pressed kiss after kiss against Anders’ jaw and neck before finding his lips again.

His arms wrapped around Anders’ waist, drawing their bodies tightly together. Dorian felt a tender longing, a desire to feel the friction of their skin, to make love to him under the stars, to hold him until the world disintegrated. He deepened the kiss, his hands knotting in Anders’ robes, using every bit of restraint to keep from sliding the garment off. It would be so  _ easy _ to succumb, so dreadfully simple to let Anders win—and wouldn’t they both be winning anyway? It was a battle which had no vanquished, not truly.

But Dorian was the Scion of House Pavus, a Magister of the Tevinter Imperium, a mage of exceptional talent and fortitude. Conquering him should be a challenge and he intended to make it so, even as the wine, the aphrodisiacs they’d been plied with, and his own desires made him long to give in.

Dorian broke off the kiss slowly, Anders’ breath still warm against his lips. He took a languid, almost reluctant, step back and took Anders by the hand again, finding the resolve to continue their walk.


	5. Dancing

On the way to the bridge, they hadn’t talked, struck dumb by the beauty surrounding them, but they’d never lost track of each other, or the mounting feelings between them. It was there, in the way they held hands and walked with an arm around the other’s waist, the way they paused when they saw a bench, before walking on.

Dorian could have had him right there, on the bridge; the kiss made Anders weak in the knees. He was aching with longing. He’d felt Dorian through the fabric of their robes. His lover was in the same state he was; they both desperately wanted, but, instead of gripping his tunic and insisting on another kiss, he let Dorian go and took his hand.

Dorian valued self-control, and Anders knew what he was doing, warring with himself; it was delightfully sexy. It only made Anders want to try harder to break Dorian’s resolve, and another time he would have bent all his talent and skill to the task, but.... there was no reason to rush. Anders wanted to wait. He wanted to experience everything the evening had in store for them.

They needed this; they had let things get too… stale. This night reminded him of how it had been when he’d first come to Tevinter, and before then, in Skyhold, when they’d cherished every moment, living for what little they had, glad to be still alive.

On the other side of the bridge the stone path continued, leading them into the next space before fading, leaving them walking on a lawn. The garden grew more open; the blooms and low shrubs disappeared, and instead there were stretches of lush, verdant grass dotted with tiny white flowers, broken by magnificent, regal trees. The brook had muffled music, but now they could hear it clearly, it was coming from some distance away. A waltz was playing softly, melding with the sounds of the evening; a cellist bowed out a heart wrenching melody, was joined by a harpist, and finally the rest of the ensemble.

Dorian shook his head, laughing. It seemed every member of their household was conspiring; the effect was nothing short of awe-inspiring.

“Would you be so kind as to honor me with a dance, Lord Pavus?” Dorian asked, extending a hand and a wide smile. Using the title to refer to Anders still felt surreal, even though it had been his for years. Anders had tried to get him to use it during their bed play, but Dorian liked to reserve it, never wanting the charm to wear off.

“Oh…” Anders’ voice was breathless; he could barely think. “Yes, a dance would be… I’d love to… Magister Pavus.”

He took Dorian’s hand and let his lover sweep him into a waltz. The floating lamps lit their way like they had before, brightening as they approached and dimming after they passed; more shone in the branches of the trees; those dimmed too, before the garden’s insects had a chance to become confused, and then others brightened.

The sky above them was an ocean of stars, and the flowers sparkled on the ground.

The music gradually slowed and became more intimate. Anders stepped closer, swaying with Dorian, his hands slipping down to his hips, and kissed him on the mouth.

Dorian pulled back reluctantly, breaking off the kiss after several long moments enjoying it, their bodies still moving in sync. He was dizzy with desire, every touch sending waves of fire through his veins. They were too close for social decorum now; had they been in public it would’ve caused the sort of indignity that sent the gossipier Magisters into fits.

But then again, they’d been a scandal since the moment they met.

“Do you remember the first time we danced, amatus?”

“I remember all of them, amatus.” They’d never needed music, they could imagine it, and then there were the few times they’d tried Ferelden jigs and lines in the Herald’s Rest… but Dorian was thinking about Halamshiral, a not-so-magical evening for the Inquisitor, the first time they’d  _ really danced _ ; for them, it had been wonderful, scintillating perfection.

Anders had been meant to be a diversion, a full-frontal mass assault in the Great Game; he’d played his part perfectly and been loud, unabashed and unforgivably happy in the midst of his enemies the whole evening, ignoring everyone except his lover. They’d danced until their feet blistered and had a fabulous time. “I didn’t even know there were people in the same room or other couples on the floor most of the time, love, you were my world, a paradise.”

Anders kissed Dorian some more, on the lips, on his chin, and leaned his head on Dorian’s shoulder, breathing in his scent. Oakmoss and sandalwood, and a smell all Dorian’s own; Anders had never been able to place what it was, he only knew it made him heady with desire.

He had to step back; he wanted to take Dorian down with him, onto the grass... The music had changed to something in common, and he led this time, taking Dorian further into the arboretum, their steps quick and sure; they flowed across the grass. “I didn’t know how to dance well, do you remember? You had to teach me, and I was glad of the lessons… I remember the first time we danced here, in Tevinter. As well as being one of the few couples visibly enjoying themselves, we were stunning. You were devastatingly handsome...”

“Well, you might not recall I was shaking from nerves—I was sick from anxiety. It’s all well and good to talk about breaking tradition, but to stand there and do it...” He smiled at Anders, before leaning his forehead against his lover’s, closing his eyes, and feeling the music and every place their bodies came into contact. “But as soon as I had you in my arms, the rest of the world disappeared. It was just us, all of the other colors in the room blurred until you were the only person I could see.”

“It was the same for me, love, and we were divine. Maevaris assured me, according to the following week’s gossip, half the people in the room wished they were us.”

They slowed and stopped; next to them was a large tree, with scented blooms; it was hard to see in the dimming light of the floating lanterns.

Dorian’s eyes sparkled like the stars above. Anders couldn’t hold back anymore; he embraced him tightly, arms around Dorian’s shoulders, shutting his eyes.

“You’ve always made me stronger, Anders, surer of myself, and not the feigned confidence I used to put on. I’ve been neglecting you, amatus; I’m not sure when it happened, but it crept in against our best intentions. Please don’t mistake my foolishness for a change in the way I feel for you.”

“Maker, don’t say it like that, love; we knew it wouldn’t be easy.”

“Tuus sum, I am yours, love, always; I’ll do better, but if you want me, you have only but to ask.”

“I’ll always want you, now and forever.” Anders murmured.

Something soft fell against his cheek. Anders looked up.

As if his wondering look was the cue, a dozen or more lamps began to glow brightly around and in the branches of the tree they were standing under; pale flowers diffused their light. The huge tree’s branches began to glow; they arced over them and reached into the sky, thick with so many huge blossoms they could barely see leaves. They were under the arboretum’s centerpiece, the ancient cherry tree.

All around them, petals were falling; they carpeted the ground in pink and white. The boughs arching over them and bowing to the ground were heavy, smothered with blooms. There were petals everywhere; it was like they were in a different world.

“Accipe me ad astra,” Dorian said, voice dripping with longing. “I want to taste you in the starlight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Tuus sum' - I'm yours.  
> 'Accipe me ad astra' - take me to the stars.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
